The
concept behind XX is admirable: an
anthology of four short horror movies (five, if we count the stop-motion one
that plays as interludes between the other segments) that are directed by women,
star women, and feature, in some way, the concerns of women. That's about where
the overt commendation ends. The end result is an unfortunate misfire, and since
it's an anthology, it's a misfire multiple times over.

There
is one major sticking point, and it's the third segment. As a short unto itself,
it's pretty underwhelming. As a piece of the whole movie's goal as a unified
entity, it doesn't fit, except that it was written and directed by a woman. The
cast is two women and two men, and they are all, essentially, interchangeable,
which means that the fact that half of the cast is made up of women doesn't mean
anything. Unlike the other three main parts of the anthology, it has nothing to
do with women's experiences in any way, save that woman in a horror movie is as
prone to being attacked by a weird, horror-movie monster as her male
counterparts.

This
segment is quite revealing, though. It suggests that there was likely no genuine
attempt at creating a cohesive whole here. There's at least one thematic
connection that can be made between a couple of these shorts, although the term
"couple" should be taken literally in this case—meaning, of course,
that only two of them seem to share that idea.

One of
those two is not the first one, entitled "The Box." It's adapted from
a short story (written by Jack Ketchum) by writer/director Jovanka Vuckovic. The
gist of it is thus: Susan (Natalie Brown) takes her two children on a trip to
the city. On the train ride home, her son Danny (Peter DaCunha) notices a man
(Michael Dyson) with a gift-wrapped box. After seeing the box's contents, the
boy stops eating. Susan's husband Robert (Jonathan Watton) is worried, but Susan
thinks it isn't a big deal.

What's
fascinating or curious here is Brown's performance, which either intentionally
or accidentally comes across as cold and unfeeling toward her family's plight.
It's never clear whether that's Vuckovic's intention or simply an issue of the
performer. If it's the former, the movie sacrifices any sort of enlightenment we
might obtain about why Susan reacts for a continuous air of mystery.

The
second segment, co-written and directed by Annie Clark, is an outlier from the
rest, both in terms of tone and effectiveness. It's a strange comedy called
"The Birthday Party," in which a woman named Mary (Melanie Lynskey)
tries to throw the perfect birthday party for her daughter (Sanai Victoria). The
kink in her plan is the sudden, unexpected appearance of her husband (Seth
Duhame), whom she finds in his home office—slumped-over dead. She spends the
rest of the piece trying to hide the body from her daughter amidst constant
interruptions.

It's an
absurd premise that's carried (pun partially intended) by Lynskey's frazzled,
desperate performance. Dressed in a nightgown and a robe, she has to drag around
the dead weight of her husband, while fearing that she'll be blamed if anything
goes wrong with the party. As comedy, it's a little too outlandish for the
fairly everyday tone that Clark establishes, but as a metaphor, it's potent (The
short's alternate subtitle, which goes on for multiple title cards, is a good
punch line, too). Considering that it's also about the lengths to which a mother
will go to protect her child, it couples well with the fourth segment.

"Don't
Fall," the third segment, has been discussed broadly, but in terms of
specifics, it's about a quartet who go on a camping trip in a remote part of the
desert. It's a monster story, written and directed by Roxanne Benjamin (who
co-wrote the previous short), that's absent of scares, purpose, and relevance to
the rest of the movie.

The
fourth is the most ambitious of the bunch. It's something of an unofficial
sequel to another famous horror film. In "Her Only Living Son," Cora
(Christina Kirk), a single mother, is preparing for her son Andy's (Kyle Allen)
18th birthday. The teenager has some, well, emotional issues and acts them out
in, well, horrifying ways. Nobody in town seems to mind too much. In fact, they
all worship the young man.

This
one, written and directed by Karyn Kusama, is a fitting way for XX
to end. It's a solid idea, featuring a few spots of inspiration, but ultimately,
it feels like a concept in search of something that's genuinely worthwhile.